Bradford laughed and finished his beer. “Tell me when you go. I’m in.”
Connor picked up another slice. “I might need to modify Grant’s yacht. I’m sure he won’t mind.”
Bradford only smiled and shook his head.
Just before biting into his pizza, Connor paused. “The Fetters are nice people. Is anyone still messing with them?”
“Not recently.”
“Back home I would have found the address of whoever was, and we would have had a good talk. It may or may not have involved using my fist. I don’t know the rules around here, and since my name is linked to the Barringtons, I can no longer do whatever I want to. I have to stop and think things through.”
“They’ve got you on a short leash, don’t they?”
Connor frowned for real this time. “It’s not like that. They’ve been good to my family. I don’t want to cause trouble for any of them.”
His nod said he understood. “Things are different in the city. Don’t try to talk to these guys. You’ll get yourself shot. Or arrested. Or both.”
Suddenly not hungry, Connor sighed and sat back. “So, what do people do—nothing? That doesn’t seem right.”
“A lot of people would prefer to look away than get their hands dirty.”
“Isn’t that worse?”
Bradford took a moment to answer. “In my book it is, but I’ve got nothing to lose.”
A heavy silence hung in the air. “That’s not true. You have people who care about you. The Barringtons would practically adopt you if you let them. I know Sophie is disappointed you won’t stay with her and Dale.”
“I do better on my own.”
Sad. “Everyone feels like that until—”
“Do you ever shut up?”
Yep. Connor bit into his pizza.
The silence that followed would have made many people uncomfortable, but Connor used it as a chance to perfect his technique. Square shoulders. Steady, dead eyes. No hint of humor or patience.
Reemsly Preparatory Academy, don’t fuck with this badass.
Being called into the office of the headmaster was rarely a good thing. Angelina Kroll sat with her back straight in a chair in front of his desk, wondering if this was how the students felt when they were asked to do the same. Mr. Svete hadn’t looked up since she entered. He was reading the screen of his computer and frowning.
She would announce her arrival, but she was reasonably certain he knew she was there. This was a power play. He wanted to unsettle her. She retained her composure as well as her confidence. People she cared a lot more about had tried to tear her down with no success. She never missed a day of work, and she had the numbers to back up the quality of her job performance. If he had an issue with something she’d done, she’d deal with it and keep moving forward.
That was her secret to survival—keep moving forward. Don’t look back.
Don’t waste a moment on regret.
“Miss Kroll,” Mr. Svete finally said as he removed his glasses and laid them on his desk. “Thank you for meeting with me on such short notice.”
“Of course. Not a problem.”
He picked up a paper from his desk, looked at it, then raised his eyes to her. “Reemsly took a chance on you. Fresh from college. Your most persuasive qualifications I’m sure were your aunt’s endorsement, her generosity as an alum, and your prior attendance at the school as well as your son’s current enrollment.”
Ouch. So it wasn’t that I graduated summa cum laude with a business degree from Rutgers? Since there wasn’t much she could say in response, Angelina held her tongue and waited. She wasn’t about to defend herself before she knew what his concern was.
Mr. Svete stood and moved to the side of his desk. “We all miss your aunt.”
“Thank you,” Angelina answered, although she was sure they missed her for different reasons. When nothing in the world had made sense to Angelina, Aunt Rudi had brought order back from chaos. Strict, but loving, she hadn’t judged Angelina for getting pregnant at sixteen, but she had required that she stay in school and had enrolled her at Reemsly. She said there were two things no one could take away from a person: a good education and their dignity. Both were personal commitments that were an individual’s responsibility to maintain.
Angelina could still hear some of their conversations echoing in her head.
“I messed up, Aunt Rudi. You don’t know the horrible things people say about me—to me.”
“If you respect yourself it doesn’t matter what anyone else says. Mistakes don’t define a person. How they handle themselves through them does. Go home and cry to your parents, or stay and prove everyone back there wrong.”
“I miss her every day,” Angelina added. Even after two years she sometimes went to call her aunt only to remember she was gone. “So much.”
Mr. Svete cleared his throat. “I spoke with Whitney’s teachers. Your son is having a difficult year.”
Breathe. “Nothing he can’t handle.”
“Not every flower blooms in every soil.”
“What are you saying, Mr. Svete?” Her aunt had paid Whitney’s tuition, but Whitney had been on an employee scholarship since her death. Although Angelina had been named in Aunt Rudi’s will, it hadn’t been a large sum. Aunt Rudi had been so generous with her money while living that there hadn’t been much of an estate to leave anyone. Isn’t that how it should be? She’d often said gifts are best given from a warm hand.
Mr. Svete moved to sit on the edge of his desk. “Nothing yet. Just expressing a concern. Are you prepared for Connor Sutton’s visit?”
Don’t overthink this. Stay focused. “Absolutely.”
Leaning forward, closer to her face, close enough for his breath to nearly gag Angelina, Mr. Svete said, “I cannot stress enough how important it is that he leave with a good impression of our school. I don’t need to tell you that, although endowments are up again this year, there are areas of need we can’t yet afford to address.”
She met his gaze directly. “Our revenue from annual donors is solid. Outreach to alumni is ongoing and the response remains positive. If you have time to look over our latest capital campaign you’ll see we exceeded our goal. The new computer building will be fully funded next year.”
“I fear your background limits you to seeking short-term solutions and not cultivating the relationships that will ensure Reemsly’s future for generations to come.”
Angelina almost said, “My background?” but she held her temper in check even though she had a pretty good idea what he was referring to. Her job not only paid her bills, it also allowed her son to attend one of the most prestigious prep schools in the country. The instant gratification she’d glean from telling Mr. Svete off was outweighed by how much she loved her son. “I understand.”
He straightened, looking straight down his nose at her. “I don’t think you do. Mr. Sutton is the type that many women lose their heads around. He must leave this campus raving about it, but he’s not the one who matters. One Barrington enrolled at our school would change everything. That should be your goal. Make that happen and my job is secure . . . as is yours.”
Angelina rose to her feet in response to the threat as well as the insult. His opinion of her might not matter on a personal level, but it did when it came to remaining employed at the school. “I assure you that Mr. Sutton will leave impressed, and my goal has always been to secure the future of Reemsly.”
“I will concede that asking Mr. Sutton to speak to our drama department about his sudden success was brilliant.”
And not my idea. The head of the drama department, Mary Kleplin, has a crush on him and encouraged her students to write to him, but I’m not about to say that. “It certainly opened the door for new opportunities. I look forward to hearing what Mr. Sutton has to say on the subject.”
“This is an opportunity that cannot be taken lightly.”
Angelina straightened her skirt. “It won’t be.” She walked toward the door
.
“Miss Kroll.”
Angelina stopped just outside his office. “Yes?”
“Keep Miss Kleplin in check. I’m well aware of that situation.”
“Yes, sir.” She waited, but he’d returned to his desk and was once again looking at the screen of his computer. She closed the door behind her and sighed.
As she walked by the secretary’s desk, the woman looked up and waved for her to approach. “Was it about Whitney? I heard about what happened on the soccer field yesterday. Boys can be brutal at that age.”
“The soccer field?”
Mrs. Tellier had been at Reemsly as long as anyone could remember. Her welcoming smile had put Angelina at ease on her first day at the school and many times since. Mr. Svete was the third headmaster she’d worked under. Nothing happened at the school Mrs. Tellier didn’t know about. She grimaced and lowered her voice. “He didn’t tell you? In PE class the Keaton boy knocked him to the ground after he made a goal. You should encourage Whitney to join the team. The coach turns a blind eye to anyone but his stars, and your son is good.”
“Whitney doesn’t like sports.” Angelina wrung her hands together. “Nothing happened to Keaton?”
“He blamed Whitney for stealing the shot from him. You didn’t hear it from me, but one of the kids saw Keaton kicking Whitney while he was down. I heard about it this morning. I’d suggest you speak to the coach, but that’s like talking to a wall.”
“Oh, I will speak with Mr. Hamilton, but I’ll talk to Whitney first. Thanks for telling me. Whitney hates it when I get involved, but that’s not right. The school has a zero-bullying policy.”
“Policies don’t work unless they’re enforced and sadly this problem is top-down. Mr. Brennan would have never tolerated such things, not even from our legacy children.”
“I remember.” Under Mr. Brennan’s reign neither the students nor the faculty had made Angelina feel unwelcomed even as a teen mother. The culture back then had been about academics, personal growth, and inclusion. His retirement had been a sad day for everyone at the school, and unfortunately the climate on campus had changed along with its administration.
Mrs. Tellier snapped her fingers. “I have an idea. I know Mr. Sutton is coming to the school to give a talk about his movie, but you could have him say a few words about good sportsmanship to some of the boys as well. There’s always the wow factor of meeting someone famous, even for these children. The problem isn’t just Keaton or Whitney. Watching nothing happen and feeling voiceless affects every child in this school. I’d say it, but I’m helping my granddaughter pay for her college loans. Otherwise I’d already be retired.”
Mr. Svete calls firing anyone who disagrees with him “cleaning house.” She’s right to lie low. And how sad that this is our new normal. Angelina leaned over and gave one of Mrs. Tellier’s hands a comforting squeeze. “You don’t have to say anything, I’ll handle this, but thank you for telling me.”
A smile returned to Mrs. Tellier’s face. “Don’t frown like that when you meet Connor Sutton. He is one fine-looking man. And single. I wonder if his taste is slightly overweight women in their late sixties? I used to do some things with my husband that had him smiling for days.”
With a laugh, Angelina straightened. “Let’s keep that story to ourselves.”
“You’ll bring him by to meet me, though, won’t you?” Mrs. Tellier wiggled her eyebrows. “I promise I won’t throw myself at him unless he begs me to.”
Angelina wagged a finger at her. “Should I invest in a whip to keep you all in line when he’s here?”
Mrs. Tellier fanned her face. “Child, if you don’t already own a whip, you have no business being the one who gets to spend time with a man like that. I watched his movie ten times. He was sent down from heaven for no other reason than to be enjoyed.”
With another laugh and a shake of her head, Angelina backed out of the room. “Promise me you won’t talk like that when he’s here.”
“Promise you’ll bring him by to meet me.”
“Deal.” I think. She paused. “I have to do this well, Mrs. Tellier. There’s a lot riding on his visit.”
Suddenly serious, Mrs. Tellier said, “It’ll be fine. Just be yourself, Angelina. Remember, all the dark does is help you see how bright you can shine.”
“Mr. Brennan used to say that.” Angelina looked back at Mr. Svete’s closed door with a longing to see his predecessor walk through it. “And he was right. Thank you, Mrs. Tellier.”
It wasn’t until Angelina was back in her own office that she was able to close the door and let out a shaky breath. There’s no reason I can’t do this.
I just have to keep moving forward and show Whitney how to do the same.
We’ll figure out the Keaton thing.
Whitney and I aren’t going anywhere.
Connor Sutton, hold your hat, because I’m about to impress the shit out of you.
Chapter Two
Connor drove a shiny new blue Mercedes Benz GLS up the long tree-lined entrance to the school. It wouldn’t have been his first choice, and his large frame barely fit inside it. Still, it was a Mercedes and it was free. Funny how easily things were sent to people who didn’t need them. Everyone wanted him to wear their clothing, drive their cars, visit their clubs. No one would have given him shit before he could afford to buy it for himself. The world had it backward.
The morning rain had cleared and after he parked he took a moment to admire the rainbow arching over the tall brick main building. Did they order it or does even nature provide the wealthy with extra little perks?
He lowered the visor and met his gaze in the mirror, narrowing his eyes as he did. You’ve got this. Silence is your armor. Give the speech Claire wrote, smile only when you have to, and get the hell out. He put on a pair of mirrored sunglasses. Keep them guessing, and maintain the advantage.
He flipped the visor up and adjusted his jacket sleeves. The more he wore suits, the less he felt like a fraud in them, but he missed the comfort of broken-in jeans and faded plaid shirts. No, they hadn’t been tailored to him, but they’d fit him better. Most of Connor’s current clothing had been purchased by Clay Landon as a welcome-to-New-York gift. Men still commented on the quality of his single piece leather dress shoes. When did men start caring about shit like that? They were nice, but in Connor’s opinion, not as impressive as his favorite pair of steel-toe work boots. I don’t even know where those are anymore.
He checked the time on his black Octo Finissimo watch—a gift from Viviana. Modern. Expensive. A statement of power and wealth. Who even needs a watch anymore? I used to check the time on my phone and that worked just fine.
Watches are statement pieces, Claire says.
Look at me, everyone, I can afford a watch.
Big fucking deal.
He sighed.
I can’t believe Bradford wouldn’t come with me. I would have gone with him.
As Connor sat there without opening the door, he conceded that Bradford likely hadn’t come for the same reason: he didn’t want to be there. Neither of them belonged at such a place with its immaculately manicured lawn and three-story glass building entrance. Security probably routinely threw people like them off the sprawling campus.
He’d come before the start of classes because he didn’t want to put himself in a situation where he’d have to interact with students before his speech, but realizing his was the only car in the front lot he began to think he’d played this wrong. I should have strolled in right before my scheduled talk—kept things rushed—and pretended I was late for another engagement. Now I have time to think about all the ways this could go badly.
A silver car, Connor recognized it as one of the subcompact electric base models, pulled up beside his. Hopefully it was the woman Claire had arranged for him to meet . . . Angelina . . . Oh, shit, I forgot her last name. Not Jolie. Crust? Crawl? I should have written it down.
He stepped out of his car and turned to greet her.
Light shone down on her between passing clouds, darkening her glasses but not before he had a glimpse of striking blue eyes. She was dressed in a long-sleeved, two-tone knit dress some might call conservative, but the term heavenly floated through Connor’s mind. It hugged her in all the right places but left some delicious areas to his imagination. Long blonde hair was tied back in a loose knot, adding a softness to an otherwise starched style. Oh, hang on . . . as his gaze moved down her long legs, her shoes brought a flush to his cheeks. Normally he was amused by how otherwise intelligent women chose torture devices for their feet when barefoot was just as sexy, but he had to admit hers completed his fantasy that she was all business at the office but one wild ride in the bed.
“Mr. Sutton. I hope you haven’t been waiting long.” Her voice tickled over him, sending enough of his blood heading southward for him to need a moment before answering her.
He swallowed hard. Even before he was legal age, women had wanted him. He was a healthy man in his prime. Sometimes he said yes. Sometimes he said no. He had nothing against the idea of commitment or relationships, but for one reason or another things had never progressed that far. Either he broke things off or the woman did. Often his partners became friends over time. They said he was too nice to stay upset with even when things didn’t work out.
None of them had ever affected him like this.
He was feeling anything but nice as she stepped closer. His heart thudded in his chest; his cock was prepped and ready. His response to her was primal, left over from a time when a man could see a woman, decide she was his, toss her over his shoulder, and run off to his cave with her.
Reluctantly Alpha (The Barrington Billionaires, Book 8) Page 2
